Cutting hair GerIta
by The Char
Summary: Germany cutting off Italy's haircurl without realizing what it can do.


Ludwig held before him a shivering Feliciano, murmuring his name softly and repetitively, vigorously blushing between each of Ludwig's arms that rested on his shoulders, gently trying to shake some sense into the country. One of his hands still held the scissors he had used shortly prior to the incident. It was just a quick haircut, he had approached him moments earlier, stating the obvious.

"Your hair is getting out of control Vargas, a good soldier must look trimmed and well kept at all times," _kind of like you should a dog,_ a voice nagged him in his mind, he promptly ignored it as it sounded to much like Gilbert and he certainly didn't know anything about keeping his hair under control.  
Feliciano, nibbling a piece of pizza, had looked up in surprise, moving a strand of hair between his fingers anxiously. "What's wrong with it, Doitsu?"  
"It's quite a bit longer than should pass, but I'll just trim it to make it a bit more presentable, you've got... well hair sticking out in some random directions, it won't do."  
Feliciano still looked a bit unsure about the whole ordeal, putting the pizza aside. "Ve... Will you make me pasta afterwards?"  
Ludwig blinked a couple of times slowly, then sighed. "Sure."

Back to the current situation Ludwig was trying to comfort an increasingly flustered Italy, who was shuffling around in his arms, tears appearing in his eyes, looking up at Ludwig, away, back up again, randomly spouting nonsensical sentences in fast paced Italian that seemed very much like a mix of curses, his name and more things he couldn't quite make out. Sternly at first he desperately attempts to tell Feliciano it doesn't look that bad, it'll grow back later, he should look into mirror before getting so hysterical, but every word he utters only seemed to make the country go decibels louder with his crying. It had only been a pluck of hair, wasn't it? Why did the Italians have to be so oversensitive?

He had set Italy on a stool, taking some kitchen scissors from a drawer and started cutting the bottom ends of his hair, and not once had Feliciano protested. Then he had worked his way to the front, grabbing a large pluck of hair, including one large haircurl whose stubborn perkiness had bothered him, if not led him to this whole situation. The moment he grabbed it in his hand, he felt Feliciano shiver beneath him.  
"D.. Doitsu..." He uttered weakly.  
Ludwig took one short last look at the hair strands cutting off the ends, then letting them fall from his hands. Feliciano started shaking, moaning softly. "P.. please... Doi..."  
Ludwig focused on the strand of hair, that, despite having lost its curl, still stubbornly stuck out above the rest of his hair. He grabbed it between his fingers, causing the country to jerk upwards again.  
"Sit still!"  
"But.. but... aahhh..."  
-Snap-

And that was the point at which the country became hysterical, Ludwig recounted, trying to coax Feliciano to silence with promises of Pasta and women, and yet again it only seemed to make it worse. Feliciano looked up at Ludwig teary eyed, accusingly, blushing heavily, then jumping out, throwing his arms around Ludwigs waist, burying his face into his shirt.  
Ludwig jumped back slightly, coughing to hold his composure as he felt the countries warm, arms move beneath his shirt, jerking upwards with each ragged breath that Feliciano took through his tears  
"R... Really, Feliciano, I can get you a mirror, did... did I poke you with the scissors? I.. I... I'll go get that mirror..."  
In reply Feliciano tightened his grip around Ludwig, leaning forward on his stool, which was looking rather more unbalanced with each step that Ludwig was trying to do backwards. "It... it... aahhh..." Ludwig stretched out his hand, trying to pat Feliciano's head in a comforting matter in the hope of making him loosen his grasp, but it only made him jerk up once more, causing the stool to fly out beneath him, throwing the whole situation off balance. After a quick fall, a flurry of hands and feet, moaning and swearing, they landed on the ground, Feliciano pressed on top of Ludwig, his face digging against his chest, softly rubbing his head over it, looking intensely pleased.

On one hand, at least he had stopped crying hysterically, on the other hand, Ludwig did not know whether this was any better, and by this stage was very, very confused. Did Italians always get this dramatic over their haircut? He was also not sure whether he was supposed whether to make from it if Feliciano liked it or not. All he know was that Feliciano was rubbing his head against his chest right now, looking increasingly satisfied with each rub (to the point that Ludwig wouldn't be surprised if he started purring anytime soon), and that wasn't the only thing the country was rubbing against him at this point...

"Doi... doitsu..." Feliciano moaned, rubbing up against him. Ludwig looked away, somewhat flustered, staring at the scissors that had scattered out of hand, across the floor, when they had dropped to the ground. When he felt Feliciano crawl up a bit higher, till his face was hanging over Ludwig's, he rapidly decided that he would never, never, offer to cut the hair of any Italians ever again. _Can't tame or trim an Italian dog, can you?_ He heard the back of his mind, that sounded an awful lot like Gilbert, poking fun again in his head. _Schweigen, East. _

Besides, looking back at Feliciano again, he would've sworn that it looked as if another stubborn curl of hair had just started sticking out.

-

{{De-anoning from the kink meme again. .?thread=7164631#t7164631 Original post. }}


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